


she demands a sacrifice

by x (ordinary)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Addiction, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Lyrium, Lyrium Addiction, Sexualization of Addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 07:37:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3561548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ordinary/pseuds/x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>amen</p>
            </blockquote>





	she demands a sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [barkghest (pokrzyk)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=barkghest+%28pokrzyk%29).



> heed the tags

**take me**

_There are no prisoners in Skyhold_ , they tell him, as they bring him back from the site of his defeat all bound up in chains. _Remember it._ He does, as he's pulled through Skyhold and deposited before her.

The Inquisitor Trevelyan looked upon him as if he were a piece of meat, ready to be carved and consumed. 

At first glance she was delicate; a pale and freckled thing, cutting a slim figure that belied her potential for frightening intensity. Anyone that saw her fight knew better, and Samson had more than just  _seen_ her. He had fought against the Inquisitor, had fallen to her, had _conceded_ to her with a gasp. With the sharp heel of her boot pressed between the ribs closest to his heart, an arrow nocked and aimed at his throat, Samson had surrender, full stop.

And now there was a price to pay, and he had no illusions. Everyone wanted their pound of flesh, one way or another. They needed justice, they needed to pat themselves on the back and feel better for it. 

If only he'd known.

 

**the giggle at a**

With her chin on her palm and elbow propped up against the arm of her dragon-bone throne, Elyse laughed while deliberating his fate. She wore a smile that didn't quite meet her eyes, her face and neck swathed in the sharp shadows of the throne's teeth. 

Leaning forward in an abrupt move, Elyse cupped her prisoner's chin with a vice-grip, forcibly turning it upwards. Her mark flared, green licks of the Fade crackling against his skin. There was no joy in her, Samson decided, only a coldness that radiated through every one of his bones. A cold that penetrated the heat of the red crystals that kept him close to a boiling point, a cold that was oily and black and disingenuous. 

"I judge you, Samson, and find you guilty of all crimes," she said, quiet and tender and fond, her hold on him shifting to smooth hair back from his temple. It sent a wave or revulsion down his spine. 

 

**everybody's disapproval**

Elyse looked at him kindly, but all Samson saw in it was the wildcat grin he'd seen in battle, blood smeared on her face. _On her lips_. He had seen her in the throes of who she _was_ , rather than who she was  _supposed_  to be. Elyse fought not for survival, nor for the joy of it. She obliterated enemies out of the sheer joy of doling out a hurt, of snuffing out a life with abject satisfaction.

"Your punishment is decided."

Consumed, exhumed, obliterated, banished. The possibilities were endless. What was his fate going to be? Sent to Kirkwall? Exiled to the wild? He grimaced, miserable and proud, and did not hang his head. He had done what was best for he and his forgotten men.

She had let him live, after that fight, and now he would find out if it was a kindness or a punishment.

"You will earn my forgiveness, by my side."

There were no prisoners in Skyhold.

 

**worshipped her sooner**

It was _always_ the boots. Crystalline drops of blue glittered against the leather, and Samson groaned in disappointment, straining against his bonds at the sight of it.

"I _need_ it," he rasped, nails scrabbling at the stone floor. Samson was desperate, half out of his mind with withdrawal. The metal band around his neck strained from the pressure he exerted against it, cutting off his own air supply in the process. "It's been so _fucking_  long, come on--" 

"What do we say?" she asked, bored, taking a seat on the chair on front of him, just out of reach. He was such a slow learner. 

Samson snarled, lunging at her like a mabari, wordless and nearly foaming at the mouth like one, too. She looked at him without pretense, without the mask she wore for anyone else. "No," she said, scolding. "Try again."

" _Bitch._ "

Elyse pulled out the vial, inspecting it with intense boredom.

" _Cunt_!"

She poured it down the drain in front of him-- savoring that pitiful fucking whimper-- and beamed. 

"We'll try again in two days time."

It was as she always said: spare the rod, spoil the Templar. He would learn, as the others had.

 

**a fresh poison**

It was so sweet that he wondered why he'd ever resisted before. Even as he pressed his face to the cool stone of his chamber, tongue lapping against it. As a reward for cooperation, Elyse fed him a crystal, stars bursting behind his eyelids. Samson groaned, shaking from head to toe, riding his first high in weeks. He sucked at her fingers, licked at her boots, did anything she instructed for just a  _little bit_ more. And every time she provided, Samson had a harder time remembering how to hate both himself, and her.

"There's a good boy," she crooned, caressing the brand burned into his cheek with fondness. "It's all uphill from here."

He knew she was lying. 

It just didn't matter.

**Author's Note:**

> barkghest this is your fault
> 
> note: transferring to my main


End file.
